ReDream
by Brain0Rat
Summary: ChrisTchan Takes place after Vol. 10 of the manga, verges off a few details. Chris grows up with the memories of the petshop, Count D, Ponchan, and Tchan all reflections on his life.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Re-Dream  
Fandom: Petshop of Horrors  
Rating: PG-13. Ish.  
Pairing: Chris/T-chan. Leon/D, but about as much in here as in the canon. )  
Notes: Takes place after Volume 10 of the manga, although it veers slightly (and obviously) AU. I know I'll be going further than these two chapters, although whether they are stand-alone with an epilogue, added chapters, or optional sequel, I'm not sure. First PoH fic, so the characterization may be a bit (READ: A LOT) off. I'm messing with tenses a lot, I've most likely fucked up somewhere along the way. The Chapter lines are snippets from the wonderful poem, 'Ode' by Aurthur O'Shaughnessy.  
Genre: Angst, Romance, what-freakin'-else?

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**Re-Dream**

**Chapter I:** _We are the music-makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams…world-loosers and world-forsakers, upon whom the pale moon gleams. _

Toutetsu does not like it here.

Because it's quiet, too quiet, even when the chirps of birds and yowls of cats echo through the halls created by magic. Pon-chan smiles wistfully when she marks the flimsy paper with Chris' crayons. She stopped crying not long ago, and draws happy, sloppy pictures of their slapdash, now nonexistent family. Leon's scowl and the Count's matching one, and Chris smiling with her in his arms.

Toutetsu never shows up in her pictures. Ever since Chris left, when he spoke away their image from his mind (his heart), there was no 'family' except in her sloppy lines. She grew angry at his lack of tears, with his harsh words, and he grew angry because Chris was supposed to be right on her heels and he wasn't.

"_Tetsu, we're leaving! Hurry up, the Count wants Chris to pick up some mille-fuelle and you have to come with us!"_

_The beast's elegant, elongated ear twitched and he scowled. His nap was deep, the kind that came after a good meal. He wanted nothing more than to go back to it._

_Chris clasped his small hands around Toutetsu's and tugged. "C'mon, T-chan."_

_Chinatown was loud, full of sights and smells. The LA sun was bright and warm, all heavy air and pavement. Colorful buildings pointing to the blue, clear sky. _

_He shook off Chris' hand from his wrist at a particularly crowded area, and felt a smidgeon of pride as the boy's tears were kept at bay. Chris squared his little shoulders and lead the way fearlessly, because Toutetsu was never far and the youth had faith in that._

He never accompanies the Count outside anymore. The others have learned to keep their distance, and the Count has long stopped asking. Because it's incomplete, wrong, when traffic and crowds catch his attention, and his steps hurry without him realizing it, but there is no one there to lead the way.

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Chris is terrified of his first day of 'real school'. 

The building is a monotony of linoleum, bad lighting, identical doors and hallways lined with lockers. The bright posters seem to overcompensate for the dullness of the walls. It feels weird to do math without an abacus, to write on standard-issue white paper with blue lines. The plastic chairs distract him with their lack of comfort, and he can't seem to get his mind off the reek of cleaning chemicals.

Mom, Dad, Joyce and Sam are so proud of him, though. Even Leon called before the bus arrived. They all wished him a good day, told him how bright he was and how proud they were. It was all sincere, so 'real school' has to have something good to it, right?

Even so, Chris would like nothing more than to be back at the petshop, nibbling on sweets and sipping on tea. The Count would refill his teacup and supply the words he didn't understand when he read his books, explaining their meanings and then everything would be crystal clear.

At noon, the scent of T-chan's cooking would drift into the sitting area. The toutetsu would set a plate in front of him, looking absolutely ridiculous with all his natural elegance trussed up in a housewife's apron. Chris willingly ate all his vegetables at the Count's persuasion and shared his food with Pon-chan.

He didn't mind polishing off a full plate of T-chan's cooking, because T-chan told him it would help him grow up to be strong (just like Leon) and maybe he'd stop being so much of a crybaby then. T-chan really was a great cook, and Chris often asked for seconds.

At lunch, Chris doesn't finish his food. It is bland and stale as this 'real school', with big crowds and confusing hallways, without the comfort of the petshop's soft lighting, 'his' chair in the sitting area and constant, reassuring sing-song of life (magic?). Chris doesn't know exactly where his next class is, and he dreads the sound of the bell.

Lost in the crowd that sweeps into the ugly halls like a flashflood, Chris looks over his shoulder, but no one is there. The boy feels the familiar sting of oncoming tears. Still, he squares his shoulders and continues on.


	2. Chapter 2

Rating, notes and such in first chapter.

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**Re-Dream**

**Chapter II:** _And out of a fabulous story, we fashion an empire's glory. _

Leon was in the hospital. Shortly after, Leon is gone.

Chris is left without ties to his once-haven, save for his own memories. Sometimes Leon calls, and Chris hears his brother's voice grow hoarse and weak behind the temper and curse words that Chris is always chastised on if he uses them.

On lonely, quiet nights, when Mom and Dad are asleep and memories keep him awake, Chris sneaks into Samantha's room. They stay awake, talking in hushed whispers, Chris answering her questions and they both reiterate stories warm and fantastical.

Sometimes Chris worries if that's all his memories are.

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He does well in school, quickly becoming used to the tedious schedule and monochrome rooms. The books and teachers are dull, hurling information into his brain and sometimes he catches himself wishing for the elegant voice and cultured words of the Count that made everything seem like a wonder.

He does well enough with friends, with all the usual joys and trials that come with blooming friendships. It surprises him, though, because sometimes he sees things his friends can't. He can't paint an image or explain a picture, because the things he sees are intuitive and of the heart and circumstance.

His teachers call it maturity. He believes it's insight, the kind that comes from the influence of his memories as a child, the kind that comes from the Count's gentle wisdom, the haphazard perspectives of Hon-lon, Pon-chan's gentleness and Tet-chan's harsh guidance. He finds himself wishing again. Longing.

Chris knows, now, that it's useless to wish for things he can't have anymore. Part of him still has faith, though, that his big brother will find the petshop again.

He can only hope that he can return, but he has long stopped expecting it to be the same.

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Chris doesn't understand a lot in his life, now. Why he can't focus, why everything makes him so angry, where the hurt in his heart comes from when there is no (or ridiculous) reason. 

He doesn't understand why adults regard him with amusement or frustration, and dismiss his feelings as something he'll grow out of. His friends are no better as they ping-pong this mystery back and forth and feed each other's fire.

There is no refuge at night, either. Chris still remembers the enigmatic smile of Count D, Pon-chan's laughter, and wishes for that time so reverently his heart feels heavy. He misses the familiar scent of incense and the freedom that doesn't come from separating thoughts and words, feelings and action.

Chris falls asleep, but his rest is fitful.

"_Big Bro!" _

_Leon's rampaging string of words aimed at one disgruntled doctor was interrupted. Those strong arms were held out to him, and Chris barely remembered to be gentle as he latched onto his older brother and barely refrained from clinging to him for dear life._

_The hospital was so cold, and his brother didn't belong on that stark, white bed, in that flimsy, standard-issue hospital gown. He knew the Count was at their side, politely enquiring about Leon's health and Leon replied with his typical lack of manners. A squabble ensued, but Chris couldn't care less._

_Leon's been shot. _

_The news kept running through his mind. It was close. Too close. Leon would be okay, it was the very next thing the Count told him. _

_It still didn't ease his fears, and when the nurse ushered them out, Leon didn't need to ask Count D to let Chris stay overnight._

_Chris couldn't sleep, no matter how familiar it felt on what was now regarded as 'his' bed, in 'his' room. His very own room at the petshop._

_When Chris spent his first night there, he was thrilled and it felt just like home, like Philippe's beach, jungles and gardens behind doors, just like the rest of the petshop. _

_Tonight, however, his thoughts kept him from sleeping. Treacherous, they spiraled higher and wilder and out of control. Tears ran paths down his cheeks, hidden by the dark, and oh, how he wanted to wake the Count or Pon-chan or even Hon-lon. He needed to hear that it was okay, even as the reality of his brother's job crashed down all around him in the dark, and it would be okay now, but what about tomorrow? Or the day after? Or five years from now? _

_Frustrated, he wiped at his cheeks and eyes. He shouldn't be crying. Leon certainly wasn't. T-chan was right. He really was a big crybaby._

_These uncharitable thoughts did not help the tightening in his chest, or the lead knot in his stomach._

_His heart leapt at the creak of the door. The boy buried his face in the soft, silk pillow, and tried to feign sleep._

_The door didn't close. He heard the most minute sound of footsteps on the plush carpet. The subtle, chime-like tinkle of jewelry. He felt the shift of the mattress as someone sat on the edge of the bed. _

"_Cut it out." T-chan's voice was soft, even if it was still harsh. "I know you're not asleep."_

_Chris slowly sat up, wiping again at his damp cheeks and struggling against himself not to burst into fresh tears._

_T-chan's hair was almost like stale blood in the cool moonlight, and his eyes glinted in a way that reminded Chris of the hunting tigers in the documentaries on TV. Those strange, yet somehow fitting horns were almost pearlecent where the light hit them, and despite all these features that coincided with the harsh, strong man Chris knew, T-chan's expression was strangely neutral and guarded. _

_Before he knew it, Chris had thrown himself against T-chan's bare chest and let out a broken sob. He couldn't listen to the flickering chain of thought that guaranteed mockery because of this. All that mattered was that someone was there, T-chan was there._

_The harsh words never came. Instead, he was enveloped in a warm embrace and T-chan really was strong. He smelled like musk, and the garden, and diluted metal that Chris couldn't quite pinpoint and didn't care to._

"_You're still such a crybaby, aren't you?" His voice was soothing without the harsh scrape of irritation, and those words were said with resigned affection._

"_I w-was so scared." He could say no more._

_T-chan's nails were sharp, but they didn't hurt as he petted Chris' hair. Awkward at first, but easily lapsing into an even, soothing repetition. _

"_It's okay to be scared, sometimes." _

_Chris fell asleep to the rhythm of T-chan's breaths, pillowed on a thick curtain of red hair and comfortable against the toutetsu's warmth. When he woke, he was alone, but a silky strand of red hair glittered on the pillowcase and the scent of musk that wasn't the petshop's incense lingered in his nose._

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Chris has dreams that warp this memory until he can't separate reality from fiction until he's fully awake. Dreams where T-chan's musk becomes heavier, his warmth closer. That embrace draws him close and he melts into it, heavy lips on his own and he can almost feel the cold harshness of T-chan's horns against his fingertips as he draws his fingers through blood-red hair.

Chris blushes when he remembers these dreams, and blushes even more when he realizes the many stinging responses T-chan has in store for him if he'd ever find out. He's become good at chalking up these things to teenage hormones, but no matter what he tells himself, he can't forget the way those tiger-eyes gave him chills against warmth in the sparse moonlight.

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On Christmas Eve, Chris invites his first girlfriend over. It goes well, and while Chris tries not to compare her delicate nails to sharp, glistening ones, Samantha enthusiastically comments on her red hair. 


End file.
